Friday, 25 April 2008

Mother, Me and My Daughter!

With whom shall i compare thee virtuous lady?
From the shadow of God you are born,
Having the heart huge like well,
Which holds the Poetries of life and Poems of love.
Sword of endurance, Guns of bravery.
Fools are those who dare to meddle into your conscience.

Bestowed by the composed soul of heavens you are,
Where every breeze is like a balm,
And every edge is calm.

Nine months pain she bore,
For that eternal smile,
Which sprinkled on the day of delivery,
And so she gave birth
To a Bard,
A Writer,
A Son.

Whose every word praises this holy woman,
Every act honours her persona.

Born from that womb was I,
Living the life of slave(for my mother) , I Love,
And a wish to die in that womb, I Hold.

Now with whom shall i compare thee vigorous lady?
Today a mother gave birth to another mother,
My Daughter.
Who, tomorrow will continue this eternal cycle of production.

Then with whom i am going to compare these mothers?
When they are incomparable!

Wrote on 14th May 2007 for a competition.